Bram included.

The old goat had trapped her smartly. He’d known she wouldn’t be able to turn her back on a company full of people who depended on it for survival. Just as he’d known she was too damned softhearted to let

Tidewater fall into the hands of a man whose lifelong ambition was to make anyone named Sinclair suffer. If she married one of the grandsons, it would become her name too, and her war. But if she walked away, everyone suffered. Warren Cobb would destroy Tidewater. Jobs would be lost. Sam and Ben and Jesse would have lost not only their grandfather but their heritage. And if that happened, she would never be able to live with herself.

She had spent the last three hours feeling sorry for herself, crying, raging, and worrying. She’d packed twice and was now making her third attempt to leave. This time, she’d actually reached the top of the stairs.

Now she was sitting on them. Listening.

And crying again—but for a different reason.

The door to the office was closed, but she could still hear what was going on inside. The laughter was interspersed with stories, outrageous memories of three boys growing up in a home filled with love and plenty of pranks.

Each tale began with “Do you remember when we” and ended in laughter. Abram had been the butt of most of the boys’ escapades, and of course, he had retaliated, sometimes with well-deserved punishments, sometimes with even more devious pranks. Abram’s boys” were giving their own eulogy as they came to terms with their grandfather’s death.

That was why she was sitting there, undecided. She’d dearly love to get to know Sam and Ben and Jesse better, to understand what made them tick. Not one of them had batted an eyelash when they’d learned Abram was leaving his entire fortune to her. They’d definitely been surprised, but they hadn’t been outraged or hurled accusations at her or threatened reprisal. They’d simply accepted it.

As if they’d expected Abram to do something outrageous. As if they didn’t care.

Abram actually expected her to marry one of them?

They scared her spitless. Not physically—even though she suspected each of them had a formidable temper, she also knew they’d never use it against a woman. No, what scared her was their fortitude, their confidence, and their arrogance. All three of them overwhelmed her without even trying. Their very ability to walk away from Tidewater and start over left her speechless. Willa had realized years ago that she was a little more clumsy than most people. About the only place she felt confident was surrounded by the sea and her senior citizens. Take her out of her element, and she turned klutzy. She’d embarrassed David so many times in the three years they’d been married it was a wonder he hadn’t considered putting her out of her misery.

Most likely, he’d been waiting for her to do it herself.

And she almost had, the day she’d stopped by David’s office and found a red-headed bombshell missing some clothes sitting on his lap. Willa had taken Jennifer’s hand, turned and walked away, and

gotten into her car and driven off. At least she’d remembered to fasten Jennifer’s seat belt. Otherwise, her niece would likely be dead.

A normal woman would have screamed and torn that bimbo off her husband’s lap, then sued David for divorce, along with every dime she could get from the slimy worm. Instead, she had maimed her innocent niece.

Recovering in the same hospital as Jennifer, only to walk out eventually, had made Willa realize that her own children were better off unborn. She’d been known to poison people with her cooking, she’d broken more dishes than she could count, and she’d gotten into enough mishaps as a child to gray her mother’s hair prematurely.

She couldn’t do it again. She couldn’t marry a man and watch him grow exasperated, then impatient, and eventually angry. Indifference would follow shortly, and the marriage would finally die a bitter death. And this time, with a man as good and strong as any of the Sinclair men, Willa would die with it. She stood up finally and squared her shoulders for the coming battle. She was leaving Rosebriar. Tonight. She was going home, locking all the doors, and keeping the world at bay. Maybe next week, she’d be able to think clearly enough to find a way to make sure Tidewater International remained intact and the grandsons got their rightful inheritance.

Yes. She would fix this mess or die trying.

Chapter Nine

Willa’s nose woke upbefore her eyes did, to the pungent aroma of a sour-mash distillery. She tried to wipe the odor away but couldn’t seem to move her hand. Nor could she feel her arms. Apparently, they didn’t want to wake up, either.

She finally forced her eyes open, only to snap them shut with a groan. Oh, Lord, she was waking up in bed with the grandsons. Thank God she was fully dressed.

Still, Willa was reluctant to open her eyes again and find out exactly whose arm was pinning her down. And whose leg was thrown over her thighs. No wonder most of her body was asleep; the man weighed a ton.

Oh, God, was it Sam?

The men had led her up to Abram’s room, pulling her into the celebration of their grandfather’s life with drunken charm. Another bottle of brandy had come upstairs with them, but she had refused to drink any, still queasy from her previous night’s scotch marathon.

Instead, she had climbed onto Abram’s massive bed and leaned against the headboard while the men had sprawled around her, and she’d listened to their tales of a strong man who had lived every one of his eighty-five years to the fullest. Sometime around two in the morning, she’d fallen asleep. A short while later, she’d half awakened to see somebody stumble out of the bed with a curse and go over and stop the pendulum on the clock on the opposite wall. She’d slept more peacefully then. She’d actually snuggled into the closest man with a sigh, feeling warm and protected and utterly content. Now, though, nature was calling. She was also mad that she had so easily been talked out of leaving last night. She wasn’t any closer to a solution to her problems, either. If anything, she had one more.

She was falling in love with the Sinclairs, every damn last one of them. Finally finding the courage to open her eyes, Willa lifted her head to see Jesse on the far side of the bed, his mouth open and one arm thrown over his eyes. Ben was snoring beside him. Which meant it was Sam’s chest she was snuggled against.

Figures. He volunteered to be the one to marry me.That’s what they’d told her last night. For the good of Tidewater, Sam Sinclair would sacrifice himself to a dead man. He was even up to the task of getting her pregnant, too.

How noble of him.

Well, he could damn well walk down the aisle by himself. She was going to find a bathroom, then the kitchen, and then she was stealing a car and driving toMaine . She wasn’t flying on one of those commuter planes again.

Praying he wouldn’t wake up, Willa carefully tried to move Sam’s hand. It immediately tightened, then started kneading her softly. Despite herself, she moaned.

Dear Lord, she had to get out of there!

She tossed his hand away, scrambling off the bed before any of the men could get their bearings. Sam shouted when she pushed off his chest. He bumped into Ben, pushing Jesse off the bed with a yelp of alarm. Ben sat bolt upright, his eyes wild, his hair standing on end, his fists raised for battle. Then all three of them grabbed their heads and started cursing. Willa couldn’t help but smile. Hangovers were such just rewards—and really handy when a woman wanted everyone to overlook the fact that she’d just spent the night with them.

“What in hell is all the hollering?” Sam hissed with obvious restraint, slits of blue fire escaping his bloodshot eyes.

Bolstered by the fact that she couldn’t possibly look any worse than he did, Willa gave him a smug smile. “Go back to sleep. It’s still early,” she said, determined to brazen her way out of this. At the very least, she hoped to buy herself time.